


Ghosts

by Plasticgalaxy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Mc76 - Freeform, Nostalgia, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Snipers, Watchpoint: Gibraltar, lots of blood, mccree/76, men making out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 12:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12410673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plasticgalaxy/pseuds/Plasticgalaxy
Summary: Jack Morrison hates that damn cowboy Jesse McCree with a burning passion. His feelings change when Jesse is the only one available to accompany him on a top secret recon mission to the decommissioned watchpoint in Gibraltar.





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by hearing the cowboy movies exchange between McCree and 76 in game. I just want readers to know that I don't claim to be any sort of authority on Overwatch lore. I've been playing the game for like a solid three weeks and did quick haphazard wiki research while I was writing this. I hope it's not too terrible! Enjoy!

Footsteps echoed through the long-abandoned hallways of the Overwatch base at Gibraltar. The generators still ran and power still coursed steadily through the compound’s grid, but everything had gone into some kind of standby or hibernation mode. If Winston had come back here, there was no sign that he was still around or had maintained the place. He’d probably gone into hiding somewhere, maybe he went back to the moon. Jack didn’t blame him. There weren’t many places in the world these days that would be accepting of an ultra-intelligent gorilla. Especially when that gorilla had been part of the now-defunct Overwatch.

Jack dipped into an open dormitory, scanning the room for anything out of place. The beds were all made, and an early morning sunrise through the east windows illuminated the thin layer of dust settled on the footlockers and wardrobes. They were far from the mainframe, but Jack was relieved to see that when Gabe — if Gabe even still existed in that resurrected mess of nano-mist and trenchcoats — had paid his visit some few months before, he hadn’t caused mass destruction. If Overwatch was ever reinstated, at least Watchpoint: Gibraltar would be easily brought back online.

A slow  _ clink, clink, clink _ of heel spurs came up behind Jack in the doorway, and he gritted his teeth.  _ If Winston did go back to the moon, _ he thought to himself,  _ at least he’s spared from dealing with this asshole. _

“Remind me why you’re here, again?” Jack grunted at the man behind him. A small grin tugged at the corners of the cowboy’s lips, and Jack instantly regretted the phrasing of his question.

“‘Cause our zippy little lady friend had to stay with the helicopter and keep an eye out for trouble,” Jesse McCree responded, quite matter-of-factly. Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a long breath before asking again.

“No, I meant, why are you  _ here? _ Why did I bring you?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question,” Jesse stepped aside as Jack headed back into the hallway, and followed as he stalked off to check the next room. “An alibi? Someone to watch yer back? Alls ya said was somethin’ about me bein’ available ‘fore you dragged me outta that bar an’ to the airport.”

Right. It had been important for Jack to get to Gibraltar as soon as he could, and he’d just happened to find McCree smoking a cigar and downing tequila shots in the middle of Dorado. As much as he resented Blackwatch’s acceptance of the cowboy, and as much as he thought McCree would’ve been better off rotting in a jail cell along with the rest of the Deadlock Gang, Jack acknowledged that he hadn’t had time to attempt to contact anyone else, wherever they may be. Half of his old command was dead or left for it, anyway. And as tacky as he found his current companion, he at least knew that he could trust McCree to keep this recon mission a secret and not ask too many questions.

Jack grumbled an indecipherable reply as he slid open the next door and peered inside, helix rifle cocked and ready. Another empty dormitory, in the same state as the last one. Jesse simply shrugged as he followed along at a leisurely pace, thumbs hooked into his belt loops and expecting no trouble. He watched silently as Jack returned to the hallway and shut the door, scowling.  _ What a grumpy ol’ man, _ Jesse thought to himself as he dipped his brimmed hat to hide his chuckle,  _ he’d have a better time if he learned to smile here ‘n there. _

The two turned left and headed down a flight of stairs that led to an underground passageway. While Jack checked the utility closets here, Jesse leaned against the wall. At least there was no sunlight creeping in here, it was better for his mild hangover. He’d slept the drunkenness off on the chartered flight to Seville, but when Tracer met them there to give them a helicopter ride to the watchpoint, all she’d wanted to do was catch up and talk about how life had been. Surely he would’ve been fine with it if he’d been able to have some coffee, but Jack wouldn’t even let them stop for that.

“Find anythin’ good?” Jesse asked as Jack shut the second closet door after rummaging through. His question was met with an extra contemptuous scowl before Jack turned away from him and skulked off to the next doorway. Their next stop was the mess hall. Fluorescent lights reflected brightly off of linoleum, enamel, and stainless steel, and Jesse suddenly wished for the warm yellow light of the sunrise instead. Tables and chairs that once seated dozens of Overwatch agents, from the grunts up to the elite, now lay empty. Serving areas that once were filled to the brim with the most delicious food ever served in a military installation, were scrubbed clean and clinically bare. Jack knew he wouldn’t even find so much as a single crumb in any of the kitchen’s freezer chests. He’d heard stories about how quickly and efficiently the place had been cleaned up after it was decommissioned.

“C’mon, just a little further,” Jack picked up his pace as he hurried through to the kitchen. Jesse obediently followed, eyeing the rows of steel stovetops and metal cookware lined neatly on shelves.

“Say,” Jesse casually spoke up as they snaked through the kitchen, Jack stopping to check every third fridge. “I bet you're a big fan of those old fashioned cowboy movies, aren't ya?” He’d just been trying to make conversation, to break the stifling silence between them. His hangover had mostly worn away by this point, but staying quiet was doing him no favors.

“I was...” Jack shut the fridge he’d glanced in, and his piercing gaze lined up directly with the cowboy’s, “...until I met you.”

Jesse attempted to suppress his amusement, but failed. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

Before he even knew what was happening, Jack had turned on his heels and shoved Jesse against a fridge, pinning him there with a forearm across his chest, and the business end of his helix rifle jammed snugly against the underside of his jaw.

“It means,  _ I don’t like you, _ ” Jack snarled, punctuating his point by driving his rifle a little further into the cowboy’s jaw. The playful smirk faded from Jesse’s face as he raised his hands slowly, defensively. He knew full well that Jack could take his face clean off his head before he even thought about grabbing his Peacekeeper. Anyway, he wasn’t here to fight. He was here to make sure that Jack stayed in one piece while he got whatever it was he needed from a compound he was no longer legally allowed to go near.

“Easy now, I meant no harm. Was just tryin’ ta lighten the mood.” Jesse cautiously glanced down at Jack’s cold scowl, the face of a trained and weathered soldier who had seen too much war and destruction, and who now walked the path of the vigilante. The lines in his forehead and the silver in his hair spoke of a man whose soul had been broken but whose body kept on.

A weighted moment of silence passed as the two men stared at each other. Jack thought to himself about how helpless the former ruffian looked pinned beneath him, and it sent a thrill up his spine. He found himself craving more closeness and…

He stopped the train of thought dead in its tracks as he sharply pulled away from Jesse, allowing the cowboy to collect himself before they moved further on.  _ Disgusting, _ Jack chastised himself, turning away. He reminded himself that he hated Jesse, and all he had felt was the excitement of seeing such a dangerous man so powerless under him. Nothing more, nothing less.

At the far end of the kitchen was yet another hallway, and a flight of stairs leading upwards. At the top of those stairs was a door heading outside. It was one end of a crosswalk that connected two halves of the compound, split up by the road that wound around from one end to the other. Back in the heyday of Overwatch, that wide asphalt pathway was used as a means to truck heavy loads of supplies and machinery easily from the warehouse all the way to the satellite tower and everywhere in between. It was the main artery of Watchpoint: Gibraltar, and the constant daily bustle along it was the heartbeat. Now it lay abandoned, unused, stagnant. Cracks that sprouted small green wisps whispered of disrepair. It was a testament to a ghost of another time, a time that Jack pushed out of his mind with a heavy sigh as he peeled his gaze away from the door’s small slotted window.

Jack fished inside his jacket for a moment and pulled out his tactical visor, fitting it snugly over his face. He tapped a button on the side, and lines of data began to scroll up across the left side of his vision.

Quite frankly, Jack preferred a secure, indoor route, but the mainframe and the satellite tower were isolated from the rest of the compound’s infrastructure. Venturing out into the open where any number of spies and snipers could be hiding among the rooftops and rocky outcroppings was a risk they were going to have to take. Jack’s visor gave him a significant advantage in spotting such targets, and also hid his identity from prying eyes. With the mask covering most of his face, he was no longer Jack Morrison, first commander and poster boy for the globally heroic Overwatch. He was now Soldier 76, a faceless byproduct of the American military’s soldier enhancement program gone rogue.

The door creaked open a crack, just enough for a quick peek out. “No targets detected,” Jack confirmed quietly after a few moments. He shouldered the door all the way open, canvassing the area as he stepped out. Jesse kept a hand near the pistol on his hip as he followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Jesse kept an eye behind them as they moved forward, slowly, up from the dip in the road that passed under a second story bridgeway. Once they rounded the corner ahead, it would be a straight shot to the mainframe building, but they would also be completely out in the open for that last several dozen yards. The spurs on Jesse’s boots seemed to echo much louder out here than they did anywhere inside. 

“Did you have to wear those stupid boots?” Jack hissed at his companion, flanking the wall near the corner.

“Sure did,” Jesse spat back in a loud whisper, “y’all didn’t give me any time ta change.”

“I didn’t see your  _ horse _ parked outside the bar,” Jack didn’t miss a beat, “unless you have some other reason to wear such ridiculous nonsense?”

Jesse sneered. “Fer the  _ heck of it. _ ”

“Jesus Christ,” the soldier rubbed his temple in annoyance. “Back in  _ my day, _ none of this nonsense—”

“Shut up, old man,” the cowboy cut him off. “This ain’t back in your day no more and—”

Suddenly, the sound of movement came from above. It was a brief scraping noise and the trickle of a few pebbles falling from above, but it was enough to shut both men down instantly and snap them to attention. Jack adjusted his visor, scanning everywhere he could see. There were no life signs, no heat signatures, nothing. They strained to hear anything further, but were only met with the ambient noise of the distant ocean and a gentle, stirring breeze.

“S’probably a bird,” Jesse suggested after a few moments of silence, but was hesitant to re-holster his pistol.

“I hate to agree with you, but…” Jack peeked around the corner, and made another sweeping check with broader parameters in his visor. “You might be right. I’m not picking up anything else.”

A long, awkward pause passed between the two, during which neither made any attempt to press on. Jack finally broke the stifling silence.

“Look, we’re almost there. Let’s just get through this and when we get back to Mexico you never have to see me again. Deal?”

“Deal,” Jesse holstered his pistol and reached out to shake on it, but Jack simply returned the gesture with a murderous glare that could’ve melted through his visor. Jesse tipped his hat and returned his hand to hover above Peacemaker’s holster, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

Jack peered around the corner again. There was the cargo bay door to The Cave, as they called it, less than a hundred yards away. If he sprinted it, he could make it in about ten seconds. Well, maybe twelve; he wasn’t as spry as he used to be. He glanced up at the bridgeway between the two main buildings again. No sign of life or movement.

“I’m gonna make a break for it.” Jack turned the corner, crouching slightly and preparing to launch himself forward.

“Wait—” Jesse had started, after hearing some more pebbles rattling to the ground, but before the word even left his mouth, the soldier had taken off.

Halfway there. Jack kept his eye fixed on the cargo door as the taste of copper rose in the back of his throat. Just a few more seconds. Something metal struck the pavement in front of him, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

_ Shit. Sniper. _

He whirled around and pointed his helix gun at where he assumed the shot came from. Without even fixating on a target, he fired off a few rounds, frantically searching the outcroppings and roofs and stairways above for something. Anything. He was still moving, pacing backwards towards his goal.  _ So close, if I can just get to the door… _

Jack glanced back over his shoulder. In that moment, something struck his right leg, just above the knee, and it buckled out from under him. He felt a burning heat spreading across his thigh and became vaguely aware of a man in a cowboy hat running towards him. He watched the man spin around and fire off several shots from his pistol in what seemed to be slow motion. Why was everything suddenly so slow? Jack looked down to where the dull ache on his leg throbbed, and barely registered a dark stain spreading around a hole that had been ripped into his pants. Suddenly the cowboy man was in front of him, yelling something that sounded like it was coming from very far away. A bullet whistled past Jack’s ear, just before Jesse grabbed him by the collar with his mechanical hand and hauled him as fast as he could manage into the satellite tower annex building.

Jesse threw Jack against the wall and slammed the sliding door shut with his foot, right before another bullet pinged into the metal, denting the door in at chest height. Jack slumped against the wall, his head lolling. The sound of rapid gunfire exploded outside, followed by hurried footsteps somewhere above. It was moving away from them. When Jesse returned his attention to his wounded compatriot, Jack had slid down to a sitting position. His legs were splayed out in front of him, blood pooling under the injured one, and he clutched his helix rifle in one hand and his tactical visor in the other.

“Hey!” Jesse squatted in front of Jack, grabbing his chin to search his unfocused eyes. “Stay with me, old man.”

Jack responded with a wordless groan and fluttering eyelids. Jesse released his grip on Jack’s chin and slapped him across the face. Hard. Jack snapped to attention.

“What the  _ fuck? _ ” He snarled, dropping his handheld items and reaching up to grab Jesse by the collar.

“Good, y’ain’t gone yet.” The cowboy let Jack grapple clumsily at his serape as he pulled it off and tossed it to the side, along with his hat, before attempting to make work of Jack’s boots.

“Get the fuck off me! What do you think you’re doing?” Jack tried to kick at Jesse, but a searing pain ripped through his leg. He swore loudly, gripping at the spot on his thigh and pulling back with a handful of blood. Right, he’d been shot. So close to his target, but he’d gotten too hasty and risked everything.

“I’m gonna need you to take yer pants off.” Jesse finally got one boot off, and frustratedly started on the other. He’d expected a weathered soldier to be a little more compliant, but that was apparently asking too much. Jack’s eyes went wide.

“ _ W-what? _ ”

“Look, I’m not tryna touch yer limp noodle or nothin’,” Jesse barked. Jack would look back on this moment and wonder how either of them kept a straight face after that. “But if ya don’t wanna die here in a pool of yer own blood in a place that you ain’t even ‘apposed to  _ be, _ then I kindly recommend that you take your damn pants off so I can patch you up before you bleed out.”

“You’re not a medic!” Jack sputtered as his other boot thumped to the floor somewhere behind Jesse. The cowboy sighed in exasperation at the lack of cooperation, and grabbed for the closure of Jack’s pants. The two grappled each other’s hands for a moment, and Jack lost only because his strength was rapidly seeping out of him through a hole in his leg. Jesse deftly undid the button and fly, and yanked the thick canvas pants off so hard that Jack had to cling to his boxers to keep them from coming off, too.

As Jesse grabbed up his discarded serape and began shredding a few crude strips from it with a bowie knife pulled from the back of his waistband, Jack took a moment to examine his leg. Fresh blood coated the skin haphazardly, but Jack could already tell that the flesh below the mess was starting to bruise from the impact. He’d never been sensitive to graphic imagery before, but it had been a long time since he’d actually been shot. And this was a  _ lot _ of blood. He felt nausea bubble up in his gut and looked back at Jesse kneeling in front of him.

“Look,” The cowboy explained, “When you spend yer time with an outlaw gang and yer pullin’ off dangerous heists on the daily, you learn real fast how to patch people up. Ain’t no medics to help you in that life.” He produced a simple metal flask bound in leather from his pocket and took a swig from it before offering it to Jack.

“What is that?” The soldier asked warily.

“Moonshine. Drink up. You’re gonna need it.” The smell from the flask made Jack’s nose hairs curl, and he made a mental note to introduce Jesse to proper moonshine when they got back.  _ If _ they got back. Reluctantly, he took the offered flask and drew a swig from it, just a mouthful. It burned the whole way down, bringing a stinging blur to Jack’s eyes, but at least it momentarily took the focus off of the throbbing pain in his leg.

Next, Jesse picked up a smaller piece of fabric, balled it up, and went for Jack’s mouth with it. Again they grappled, and again Jesse triumphed, stuffing the cloth unceremoniously into the soldier’s face. It tasted like ash and Jack gagged on the wool fibers sticking to his tongue.

“Unless you wanna break all yer pretty teeth, yer gonna need something to bite down on,” Jesse responded to Jack’s incredulous muffled noises. “This is gonna feel real bad.” Picking up another cut strip, Jesse moistened it with what was left in the flask and wiped it across Jack’s bare leg to cut away the smeared blood. The alcohol needled it’s way into the bullet wound and sent a white hot shock all the way down to the bone. Jack roared in pain, clamping down on the rag in his mouth and resisting every urge to punch Jesse in the face.

“Hold still.” Jesse pressed a hand down on either side of the wound, examining it closely as blood continued to trickle out. “You’ll need to see a proper surgeon to get the slug out, but it doesn’t look like it hit anythin’ major, and as long was we bind it up good, you’ll be fine.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

Jesse took up the alcohol-soaked cloth again and made a second pass, causing Jack to writhe in pain. He picked up a longer strip of fabric and wrapped it twice around Jack’s leg, pulling it tight and finishing it off with a double knot.

Jack spit out the rag and took a deep breath, ruffling his hands through his hair and bringing himself back to earth. His leg smarted something fierce, but he could feel the slight numbness behind his eyes from the ingested alcohol. It was going to be okay.

“Alright, all patched up, pumpkin.” Jesse grinned, patting Jack on the cheek.

“Don’t,” Jack growled, snatching Jesse’s wrist. The goofy smile faded from that scruffy face. Brown eyes searched the steely blue ones for an answer. A moment passed between them feeling like time had stopped. Jack was the first to break their gaze, closing his eyes for a moment. Maybe it was the pure grain alcohol, the loss of blood, or the combination of both, but Jack was suddenly craving the closeness, the feel of another chest crushed against his. But god, how he  _ hated _ McCree. He wanted to hate him so much. He wanted to…

Jack jerked Jesse’s wrist back so that the cowboy came tumbling forward towards him. Jesse’s metal hand slammed against the wall next to Jack’s head to steady himself, and Jack wrapped his other hand around Jesse’s neck to pull his face down and capture his lips in a rough kiss. Jesse made a quiet noise of surprise, but quickly melted into Jack’s hunger, allowing him to explore his mouth.

Jesse tasted like tobacco smoke and alcohol, but his lips were sweet and his beard soft against the soldier’s stubbled face.

“Don’t,” Jack breathed against Jesse’s ear, “don’t call me pumpkin.” He released Jesse’s wrist to snake his hands into his tousled locks and pull him into another ravenous kiss. Jesse chuckled into the smooch as his hands fumbled with the zipper on Jack’s thick leather jacket. As the zipper reached the bottom and the jacket fell open, he smoothed his broad hands over Jack’s chest and shoulders. The soldier writhed under his touch, letting out a low groan.

Suddenly, a voice came scratching through on Jack’s comm device, effectively icing the increasing heat between the two men.

“Cheers, you boys okay?” There was a crackle, but Tracer’s voice came through loud and clear. Jack straightened up, quickly pulling down the t-shirt Jesse had lifted to glide a hand over his abs.

“Uh, yeah. We’re here.” Jack coughed as his voice cracked.

“I heard some gunfire and… oh my god, I think I just saw Winston!”

“Winston’s alive?” Jack asked in disbelief, shoving Jesse to the side.

“Look, I dunno what’s going on out here but you loves better get back here soon. Looks like some stuff is going down.”

“What about Winston though?” Jack pressed a finger desperately to his ear. “Lena, come through!” He was met with silence and hissed a curse through clenched teeth. When he returned his attention to Jesse, the cowboy was standing over him, offering a hand to help him to his feet. Jack simply glowered up at him for a moment, before begrudgingly accepting the hand and being unceremoniously hoisted to his feet. He hobbled to a nearby chair while Jesse gathered the haphazardly discarded pants and boots.

While Jesse quietly fussed about, Jack took a moment to gaze around the cramped workspace set up in here. Computer monitors that hadn’t been switched off displayed a static Athena logo. Computerized displays on the wall showed data that had been collected by the satellite tower. Normally, it would have been rapidly scrolling new information, sending and receiving news, orders, and environmental happenings from all over the world, but since the array had been shut down, the displayed data was stagnated with the reports from the day Overwatch was shut down. It was like a time capsule, a moment frozen in history, an event that Jack wished and prayed every single day that he could forget. It would never stop haunting him.

Jack was fully clothed again — much to his chagrin at being helped through the process — and had resumed his grumpy, scowling demeanor while he decided his next plan of attack. Jesse smiled to himself as he studied Jack’s thoughtful expression. Their moment together had been wholly unexpected but everything he had wanted and more. Though he no longer felt the needling hatred he was used to receiving from Jack, he knew it would take much more to get him to open up. But they’d agreed to go their separate ways after this mission, and Jesse felt a pang of sadness at the thought of never seeing Jack again.

“There’s a back entrance to the cave if we slip out this way,” Jack pointed to the annex’s door that was opposite of where they’d entered. “We should be fairly well covered and it isn’t far. But…” His eyebrows furrowed as he fought some brief inner conflict, and he broke eye contact with Jesse. “...I’ll need your help.”

“S’why I’m here, right?” Jesse offered a smile, and the corners of Jack’s mouth lifted ever so slightly.

The two made their slow way out of the back of the annex and towards the back door, without incident this time. It seemed that the sniper had been chased off or lost interest. The door was shut but Jack’s passcode still worked, and it opened with a hesitant groan. Jack had been meaning to get that door realigned and oiled before the shut down, but now he’d never have the chance.

The cave felt like home. The whole place was in a sort of controlled disarray that Jack hated but Winston worked best in. He took it in for a moment; Jack knew that this was probably the last time he would get to see it, and he wanted to commit it to memory while he still could. Taking a deep breath, Jack swallowed past the surge of emotions bubbling up inside him before grasping on to Jesse’s shoulder for support as they climbed the stairs to the second level.

The mainframe computer was an impressive thing. It sat in the middle of the loft office space, with an array of half a dozen monitors glaring down on the curved desk and plush office chair beneath them. The wall behind it was a dim glow of switchboards and servers behind clear access panels. The computing power of this thing was yet to be matched in the modern world, and yet it was fated to spend the rest of eternity laying dormant in this tomb.

Jack eased into the chair and ran his hands familiarly down the arm rests. He fought back another painful wave of nostalgia as he produced a thumb drive from his jacket pocket, and plugged it into an interface port on the desk in front of him. Jesse had gone back downstairs for the time being, knowing that this was the part of their mission that he wasn’t supposed to see. One of the monitors flickered to life from the static Athena logo and prompted Jack for his login credentials. It took him a couple of tries to get his password right, but then he was in, and three other monitors flickered to life, displaying the called for information. Jack’s eyes scanned over the screens for a moment before he initialized the download to the thumb drive.

While the progress bar on the screen slowly filled up, Jack glanced around at the bit of clutter on the desk. A jar of peanut butter caught his eye, and he picked it up, rolling it over in his hands. It was new and half-eaten.  _ Winston buddy, you’re still here. Thank the stars above. _ Jack blinked back the sting in his eyes, replacing the peanut butter where he had found it and retrieving his thumb drive as a ding notified him of the completed file transfer.

“Take care of this place,” Jack whispered to no one in particular, before logging out of the computer system and squeezing the thumb drive tightly in his hand.

* * *

Tracer had been able to land the helicopter near the satellite tower to ease Jack’s trip back. She’d recounted what little she’d seen and heard, and was sure that the sniper had been a Talon agent. Jack smiled to himself when she mentioned her brief Winston sighting, it was only for a fraction of a moment but she was sure it had been him. She seemed rather unsurprised that Jack had gotten himself injured, but fussed about getting him to a hospital. He declined, finally convincing her that it wasn’t as severe as his limp made it seem and promising her he would get proper medical care when he returned to Mexico.

The ride back to Seville was quiet. Tracer hummed to herself as she piloted the small aircraft, lost in her own thoughts. The men sat next to each other quietly, neither knowing how to say what they wanted to the other.

They were minutes away from the airport when Jack finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he grunted, barely audible over the helicopter’s engine.

“What’s that?” Jesse glanced over at his companion.

“I’m sorry… for calling your boots stupid.” Jack had a tough time getting the words out, but it was heartfelt. Jesse chuckled.

“I’m sorry for calling you an old man,” the cowboy offered in exchange. Silence settled between them again. The airport was in full view now.

“Look, when I said that we didn’t have to see each other again, I didn’t mean…” Jack blurted hurriedly.

“I know,” Jesse replied quietly, patting Jack’s knee. Their aircraft began to descend to the landing pad below.

“Do you want to, uh, maybe grab a drink together sometime?” Jesse caught a hint of blush stealing across Jack’s face. For all his gruff bravado, he was a surprisingly tender and somewhat shy man.

“That’d be swell, pumpkin.”


End file.
